About your Search

20121101
20121130
Search Results 0 to 23 of about 24 (some duplicates have been removed)
recently passed away in cairo, in june, actually. she was not only a poet, she was luminous and free-thinking pioneer in establishing the theory of what has come to be known as free verse in arabic poetry. in addition to her extensive laments on oppression of women and melancholy. she left. no cheek turned pale, no lip trembled. the door did not hear the story of her death. no window curtain overflowed with sorrow and gloom to follow the tomb until it disappeared. the moon lamenting its depression. the night surrendered itself without worry to the morning. the lights brought the voice of the milk girls, the fasting and the moaning of a starved cat of which nothing remained except bone. the fussing of salesmen, the struggle of life, kids threw stones at one another in the middle of the road while dirty water flooded the avenue and the wind toyed with gates and roof tops, alone in a state of semi oblivion. . >> on the day al-matarazzo street was bombed, did you notice how quickly it folded in itself? or the broken tea cups and coffee-stained saucers, the gray matter, and just before t
. chris really took to this. i can picture him in the markets of cairo, joking with vendors, smiling, enjoying their stories. chris was chief stevens gone global. [ laughter] >> but chris was also a perfect blend of father and mother. a deep appreciation of history, newspapers, beauty. gilbert and sullivan, p.g. woodhouse and nature. like dad he loved to experience through hiking, mount tam, at lan, barvarian alps. one summer i had a job at signal mountain lodge in the tee tons. he came to visit and read nick adams stories. now is now is now. inspired, he signed on for a job. long after school chris was still there, immersed in the culture. not only hiking, fishing and camping but hunting elk. hard to believe. one of the last times i was with chris we took a long run through the trails of walnut creek. he was reading a book of how to keep running as we enter our later years. giving me pep talks in how to drag myself out of bed in cold, dark mornings for that run. i was inspired. through mom he learned the value of visiting a foreign country. the importance of talking to people in the
's momma -- mom mary cut out that and sent it to cairo. chris took his time to write a thoughtful note expressing his concern and wishing us well, commenting on how cute maggie was. he closed that note as follows. as they say in this part of the world, and you will forgive me for butchering the arabic. may allah make things easier for you. this is my wish for chris's family and friends today, as we mourn his loss. the world will never -- the world never saw a kinder, more resolute and enlightened soul. his integrity, character, empathy, his courage, his tolerance were ever present, unchanging, even with all his success and fame and in the face of every challenge. we feel so sad to have lost chris but so lucky to have known him. we will do everything we can to make sure his memory lives on and foster and support the people-first diplomacy he stood for and advocated both at home and abroad. b [ applause ] ♪ >>> my name is mary numyer. i live in washington but met chris 26 years ago at hastings law school, two blocks from here. we were in the same section in the same study group. when w
by seam, a garment i have sewn to my skin. whatever remains of el gubenchi's 1932 cairo studio recording lives between the old cobblestone quarter and my still-warm mahogony ear. i should have gotten up to shake his hand, this uncomfortable tension between me and god. medina, its streets adorned with smells from the bazaar, yet i have chosen to adorn myself in the still concrete of columns. i am for the transcription of the arabic. in the morning, he howled the song in the name of his father, perhaps new fathers weep at the birth of their sons. do not cry for leila or for him, but drink the red wine and grow your love doublely, one for the ruby in the cup, the other for its rouge on your cheek. bombs rape the eyes of the sleeping assyrian gods. as if it were only a sand box, a few worthless grains of sand. i'll cut for you the last swathe of blue from the sky, sever my and if you'll let me, but for 5 minutes more, leave me to sleep without the knowledge of war. a kanun weeps near the funeral of music. having been occupied, notes mourn for the loss of their song. i am for a concert of hor
Search Results 0 to 23 of about 24 (some duplicates have been removed)

Terms of Use (10 Mar 2001)